


Let the Water Hold Me (Down)

by bellatemple



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, References to Suicide, abuse of watery metaphors, references to drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: Set mid-season four. The end of the Crocker curse left a lot of people in a lurch. One of them takes it out on Duke, and Jennifer's the only one around to help him out of it.
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Jennifer Mason (Haven)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Let the Water Hold Me (Down)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like what Duke deals with here is better described as "depressionish"? It's a very theatrical version of a common symptom, plus some extras for storytelling purposes. But hey, it's magic depression, so I get to decide it does what I want. . . .

She waited for him on the deck of the _Rouge_. That never seemed to bode well for him. 

"Duke Crocker," she said, not quite a declaration, but not a question. He looked back down the dock before meeting her eye again. She was about his age, maybe a little older, her body just beginning to show signs of middle age. She looked like someone's mother, or maybe a middle school principal. Someone very used to being in charge of unruly, chaotic masses. 

She looked _tired_.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "We were in school together. But we never, you know. Talked. Anna Marcus." 

Duke nodded. He recognized the name, but only vaguely. Something he'd heard read off an attendance roll, or announced over a PA. She hadn't been deviant enough to be a customer, hot enough to be a conquest, or nerdy enough to be a target. She'd just . . . been. 

She twisted her fingers together, biting her lip. "You have to help me." 

Duke shook his head. "I'm not really running charters right now. If you need a job, I've got some room at the Gull for waitstaff, but —" 

"No." She shook her head, a hard jerk to either side. "No no no, I need _you_ to help me. My family. As — as a Crocker." 

Duke stared at her for a long moment, then pointed at the docks. "Get off my boat." 

"Please!" She burst into motion, rushing towards him and reaching for his hand, only to draw up short as though she'd been burned. "You don't understand. My trouble —" 

"I don't care." He used his greater bulk to muscle past her. She jumped out of his way at the last moment. He pulled a bottle of bourbon from one of his crates and cracked it open, then glanced back at her. "Why are you still here?" 

"I've heard the stories." She stood her ground when he wasn't in her face. Definitely someone used to being in charge. "I know what Crockers can do. My trouble _kills_. It needs to be gone." 

"And you think that makes you special?" Duke shook his head and took a sip of his bourbon. "Killing is what troubles are for. But — not me. I'm not doing it anymore." He turned his back on her, looking out to sea. "So leave." 

The lapping of the water nearly drowned it out, but Duke knew that _click_. Had trained himself to listen for it. He turned his head, enough to give her his profile. "Threatening me won't help." 

"You don't understand." Her voice shook. When Duke looked, the pistol was wobbling in her hand. He wondered if she'd ever pointed it at a person before. "We can't keep going like this. My sister, she has kids. Three and five. The medications aren't working anymore. I'm just me. No one will miss me. You have to —" 

Duke sighed. "It doesn't matter." He set the bottle down and turned to face her. "I'm not trying to be a dick. My trouble's gone. The Crocker curse is no more." 

Duke had never seen someone lose their color so abruptly. He stepped forward, half expecting her to faint. She swayed, dropping her gun, and Duke caught her by the elbow. She stared at him, eyes wide and wet. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

She slapped him. He shut his eyes and took it. 

"What did you do?" Her voice shook with fury. "The Crocker trouble was the only hope this town _had_ and you — you threw it away?!" 

"That's not —" 

She wrenched out of his grip and backed up. He stood where he was, rooted to the spot, anger rushing out of him like a tide. 

"You selfish son of a bitch. You haven't changed at all, have you, Duke Crocker." She hissed his name like it was a curse. Maybe it was. "You were born a useless wharf rat. And you'll die a gutless bastard." 

She turned and stormed off, leaving her gun on the ground at his feet. Duke stared down at it, watching the way it caught the light and glinted in the sun. He wondered what it would feel like against the soft tissue under his chin. What it would taste like on his tongue. 

He grabbed the bourbon and went inside, leaving the gun to glint accusingly on the deck.

* * *

Jennifer drummed her fingers and tried not to stare at the door to the coffee shop. Staring was the opposite of nonchalant, and she was determined to look bright and cool when Duke finally arrived. 

The fact that he was now — she surreptitiously checked her phone — seventeen minutes late wasn't helping. 

This wasn't like him. She didn't think it was like him. She hadn't known him that long, but she did feel like she knew him pretty well. He'd call if he was running late. He was considerate, at least to her. And this was Haven, where someone not being where they were supposed to be could mean they were eaten by a killer goldfish or something, so even inconsiderate people in this town would call if they were going to be — another phone check — eighteen minutes late. 

But she was trying to be cool. Duke had already seen so much of her being crazy, especially after William's stunt with those black goo balls. He didn't need clinginess or overwrought worry from her too. His friends were all _really_ cool — goo balls aside — so it was clearly something he valued. And to be cool she couldn't freak out about him being a little late for a casual coffee date. Not even a date. A coffee hangout. Coffee with benefits. 

"Oh whatever." She picked her phone up again and started dialing. "I've never been cool." 

It rang six times before dropping into voicemail. She aimed for cheerful and probably came out sounding manic. Whoever actually "just checked in" on people? God, that was the most passive aggressive thing she'd ever said. She should call back and apologize. 

She set her phone down screen side down and sipped her coffee. It'd gone cold. She drummed her fingers and tried not to look at the door. 

" _Jennifer_ ," Audrey said when she answered. She sounded harried. Jennifer swallowed the guilt at having called her. This was Haven; not being cool was appropriate here. " _This isn't a good time._ " 

"Is Duke with you?" Jennifer winced at the neediness in her voice. 

" _I haven't seen him all day._ "

"Oh." Jennifer bit her lip, pressing her phone tighter to her ear. "I thought maybe he was on a case or something." 

" _We're on a case_ ," Audrey said slowly. " _But not with Duke._ " 

"It's just." Jennfier sighed to herself. "He's late. We were supposed to meet for coffee. And he's not answering his phone." 

" _And you were hoping he was on a trouble case and not standing you up._ "

Jennifer heard Nathan mumble something in the background. She couldn't make it out, but it sounded dry. "I'm worried," she admitted. Audrey was silent for a long moment. Or a moment that felt long, because Jennifer was kind of freaking out here. 

" _The trouble we're working is a bad one_ ," Audrey said finally, her voice soft and tinged with worry. " _You should go check on him._ "

More from Nathan, this time urgent. 

" _Check the boat_ ," Audrey said. " _We'll send someone by the Gull. Maybe he just lost track of time. And his phone._ " 

"Is that something he does a lot?" Jennifer asked. 

More of that horrible silence. 

" _Check the_ Rouge _. And — let me know if you find him._ " 

Jennifer drank the rest of her coffee and hurried out the door. At least she could pretend she was still just as cool as Audrey was.

* * *

Duke wasn't sure when it had started raining. Sometime after he'd come in from the deck. The light in the galley had been too bright, hurting his eyes, so he'd gone straight to his cabin and buried his head under his pillows. He'd noticed it sometime after that, the steady drumming on the skylight, the _tink, tink_ against the hull. He needed to get up. The weather report hadn't called for rain, and there were things on the deck that needed to be packed up or tied down if it was going to storm. 

He didn't move. 

There was another sound, buried under the rain, a buzzing rattle that came and went. He realized distantly that it was his phone, sitting on his nightstand. Maybe six inches from his hand. It could have been Nathan, or Tracy at the Gull. Or Audrey. He needed to answer it. He wouldn't even have to lift his head, just shift his hand over and grab it. Bring it under the covers with him. Tell them he was sick, that they'd have to do whatever it was without him. 

He wasn't sick, though. Just useless. 

Gutless. 

Wharf rat. 

His chest hurt. 

He finally moved, rolling onto his side and curling up. He normally slept sprawled out every which way, on his back or his belly, revelling in the size and space of his bed. He hadn't done this, lying fetal with his hands tucked between his knees, since he was kid. 

When his dad came home. 

When his dad _didn't_ come home. 

When his mom brought her clients to the house. It wasn't home, by then, just where he slept. 

Then it wasn't even that. 

_Bastard_. Parasite. Anna hadn't said that last one, but he'd heard it often enough anyway. He was a burden. A tick. With or without his trouble. 

Vermin.

The rain came down harder. 

The phone stopped buzzing. 

Duke lay there and breathed and tried not to think.

* * *

"Duke?" 

Jennifer squinted, raising her hand against the afternoon sunlight as she looked the boat over. Nothing looked too out of place on first glance. One of his crates was open, which struck her as a little weird, but she'd never paid enough attention to all the junk he kept around to know for sure. She put the top back on it and started towards the hatch that led below-decks. 

"Duke! It's Jennifer! You missed our — coffee!" 

She stubbed her toe on something small and heavy. She cursed, hopping up and down, and looked down to see a pistol lying on the deck. It wasn't one of Duke's. He never left guns lying around loose like this; _that_ she would have noticed. She picked it up gingerly with her sleeve pulled over her hand, careful not to touch the trigger, and tried to see if she could figure out where the safety was. When she couldn't, she set it back down again, tucked out of sight between the boxes. She could deal with it later, once she knew Duke was okay. 

"Duke!" She made her way into the kitchen. "Are you here? We're worried about you!" She stopped, tilting her head and listening, but all she heard were the usual boat noises. The creaking of the hull, the gentle lap of water, the hum of the ventilation system. The kitchen was like the deck had been: totally normal. Not even any suspicious weapons lying about. The door to his bedroom was open, though, and while he wasn't much one for making his bed on a regular basis, it looked like the covers were piled up into even more of a lump than usual. She paused, about to go search the rest of the boat, then sighed to herself. She was sleeping there pretty regularly now too, and she just couldn't leave that bed unmade. 

She yanked the comforter from the bed, then nearly jumped out of her skin when she uncovered Duke, curled up on his side, hissing as he wrapped his arms around his head. 

"You scared the crap out of me!" She smacked his foot. Since when did he wear his shoes in bed? Gross, they were _naked_ there! "Why didn't you answer when I called?" 

Duke grunted something unintelligible, his arms still covering his head. He seemed to be trying to curl up even tighter. Jennifer felt a pang of guilt over being angry with him. 

"Do you have a headache? I've got aspirin in my purse." She circled the bed and crouched down by his head, trying to get a look at his face. "Do you need water?" 

"Go away." It wasn't a moan. Just a quiet command, spoken in almost complete monotone. 

"No." Jennifer leaned on the bed and tried to shift his elbows out of the way. He had his eyes shut tight, but his color was alright. He didn't look pale or sweaty or anything. "If you stood me up because you're _hungover_ , Duke Crocker —" 

He uncurled enough to roll over, his face screwing up like it was a monumental effort. Jennifer frowned and poked him in the back. 

"Hey. Hey, come on. What's going on, Duke? Is this — is this about Wade?" Everyone mourned differently, she knew. He'd been an angry wreck right after, but dealing with William and everything had seemed to help, gave him something else to focus on. Maybe this was just the next stage of his grief? She should leave him to it, if so. She'd only remind him of what had happened, what he'd done to protect her. 

Duke let out a soft, hurt sound at his brother's name, but after a moment shook his head. "Leave me alone, Jennifer." 

She stood, swallowing. "Okay. Take your time." She rubbed his shoulder once, then pulled the comforter back off the floor and draped it over him. "I'll be right outside if you need anything." 

His only response was to tug the comforter up over his head. 

She left, closing the door most of the way behind her. She didn't think about the gun again until she was calling Audrey to check in.

* * *

The rain was heavy, a thick, uneven roar all around him. It had to be a hell of a storm, the kind that could swamp boats even in port. There was so much to do, especially with Jennifer here. If the _Rouge_ went down, it wasn't just his life or his home on the line. 

He knew that, intellectually, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't make himself move. The thought of sinking should have sent a thrill of terror through him. He'd watched his father drown, had spent his life on the sea. He'd drowned himself once, had tried to breathe against lungs full of water and panicked when he couldn't. Now, thinking about the depths beneath him, the dark water closing over his head, it felt — right. Appropriate. That was how you got rid of unwanted pests when you lived by the sea. You drowned them. 

Jennifer needed to leave. He could hear her out in the galley, muffled and indistinct under the rain. She sounded worried. He was pretty sure he was meant to care about that, but he couldn't reach it. It was muffled. Drowned out by the rain. 

"Duke." 

She was in front of him again. He winced. She shook his shoulder gently and leaned into his space. 

"Duke, this is important, okay?" 

He blinked at her, opened his mouth to tell her to leave again, then — didn't. Shut it. Someone must have opened the skylight or something, because the rain was in the cabin now, making it hard to see. 

"You might have been hit by a trouble." 

He let out half a laugh at that and closed his eyes again. That was irony for you, the man meant to end troubles being ended by one. It was fitting, really. 

"I'm serious." She put her hands on his face, thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones. "Look at me, okay?" 

He opened his eyes almost lazily. It didn't matter if they were open or shut; the water was rising and there was nothing to see. His boat was going down, and he was going to go down with it. 

She gave him a small, shaky smile. "Do you hear anything weird? Like, like music or something?" 

"No." The sound of his own voice startled him. It was too dry and cracked for a swamped ship in a storm.

"Good!" She smiled bigger, letting go of him and sitting back, her hand reaching for something on the nightstand. 

"No music." Duke let his eyes fall shut again. "Just the rain."

* * *

"Not good." Jennifer's hand clenched around her phone, and she stared at Duke. He looked like he might have just fallen asleep, his body motionless, his face slack. She looked over at the window, and the clear blue sky over the water. "Duke." She shook his shoulder again. "Duke, it's not raining." 

He jerked away from her, but otherwise didn't move. Jennifer snatched her hand back and pressed it to her mouth. 

Audrey didn't answer. Jennifer hung up, her hands shaking, and dialed Nathan. 

"What does rain mean?" she demanded, the moment he picked up. 

" _Rain?_ " 

"Duke's not hearing music, he's hearing rain." 

" _Has he tried anything?_ " 

Jennifer stood, too much adrenaline running through her system for her to keep crouching by the bed. She started pacing, shooting glances back at Duke with every pass. "No. I don't think so. There was a gun on the deck, but I don't think it's his, and he's not bleeding or anything, he's just. Lying here. Like a — a Victorian widow or something. Like he's 'taken to his bed'." 

Nathan took his time processing that. Jennifer could hear faint shouting through the phone, and wondered if he was at the scene of another attack. It'd explain why Audrey wasn't answering. She shot another look at Duke. 

" _Maybe rain's a different effect. Or an early stage._ " 

"So he still might. . . ." Jennifer trailed off and swallowed, not even wanting to say it out loud. 

" _Keep an eye on him,_ " Nathan said, which was as good as a 'yes' in Jennifer's book. " _Ask him what happened. Before he 'took to his bed'._ " 

"Um. I can try." Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed at Duke's feet. Her legs bounced. "He's said like, three things since I got here. And two of them were 'go away'." 

" _He really is affected_ ," Nathan said, dry but tinged with worry. " _Try. Anything he can tell us will help._ " 

"Okay." Jennifer hung up and looked back at Duke. He still hadn't moved. Hadn't even shifted. She rested her hand on his feet, then after a moment started untying his shoes. There was no reason he should have to be stuck in bed and uncomfortable, after all. 

He didn't pull away. She wasn't sure whether to count that as a win or not. 

"Okay," she said again, this time with as much cheer as she could summon. "Audrey and Nathan are on the case, so this trouble's not going to last much longer, okay?" She slipped off his first shoe and squeezed his now bare foot. She wondered why he didn't wear socks. "But they need help. And that's — that's what you do, right? You help them with troubles." 

Duke didn't respond. She started on his other shoe. 

"So you have to tell me what happened. I found the —" Her breath caught as possible reasons for the gun lying in the open on the deck raced through her mind. "I found the gun on the deck. It's not yours, right? Did someone come by?" 

She slipped his other shoe off. He continued to just lie there. She watched his chest, waiting for the slow rise and fall to let her know he was still breathing. 

"Right," she said. "Some help we're going to be."

* * *

Duke's lungs felt heavy. He could hear Jennifer, a dull, distant murmur, as she talked to someone who wasn't him. He listened as best he could, tired of listening to the rain. She was trying to solve a trouble. Something about the storm. 

They knew who made storms. He should tell her that, that Nathan and Audrey were probably already on it. That nothing he did would make any difference. 

It took so much effort to talk. 

He felt her shift, heard her start to pace again. His feet were cold. His whole body was. Water could suck the heat out of you faster than most anything else, could knock you down and hold you back and drag you under. He was under the water now, cold and too heavy to move. He missed her touch, her hands gentle on his skin. She deserved so much better than him, better than being dragged under after him. 

He was a terrible, selfish man. He still wanted her close. 

"Don't." 

It took monumental effort. More willpower than he thought he'd ever put into anything before in his life. Controlling his trouble, holding back the bloodrush, it'd all been practice for this, for forcing his body to do things it didn't want to do. To reach out. 

"Don't leave." 

He was selfish. That was nothing new, he'd known it for a long time. Longer than he'd known most other things. He was irresponsible. Inconsiderate. An unreliable pain in Nathan's ass. 

And not because he lay around in bed all day. 

He flexed his hand, breaking through inertia like a thick layer of silt. He was on the bottom of the ocean, water-logged and encrusted with barnacles, but he reached out. The silt pulled back, the water laying heavy on him, squeezing every part of him, warping light and sound. He'd felt the weight of the ocean before, the tremendous pressure of the deep. He used to seek it out, let it hold him like an old friend. He'd floated back then, suspended weightless and alone in shafts of broken sunlight, nothing but his wits and his self-control to keep him going, and he'd loved it. 

There was no sunlight here, though. No kelp or coral. He'd sunk too deep, and there were monsters in the dark. 

Hands closed around his and squeezed it tight. Duke locked onto the sensation and squeezed back. 

He wasn't alone. 

"Please don't leave me."

* * *

His voice was little more than a murmur, but Jennifer heard every word. She squeezed his hand harder, watching his fingers curl loosely around her own, and wondered what had changed. 

Maybe Audrey had done something. Found the troubled person and was starting to talk them down. She wanted to call and ask, but she wasn't about to let go of Duke's hand. 

"Hey," she said. "Hey hey hey, I'm not going anywhere. Even when you tried to kick me out after Wade died, remember?" 

Duke grimaced, letting out a soft whine, and Jennifer cursed herself. "Okay," she said. "Right, not talking about that. That's fine. How about . . . after? When you came back to the boat. Before Vince showed up." She stroked the back of his hand. "Remember, we kissed and came inside and you were so gentle, I had to tell you I wouldn't break. Almost ripped your pants trying to show you how into it I was, get you to speed up. We ended up both tripping and falling right into this bed. Remember? And I sat up and hit your stupid indoor windchime." 

He let out another noise, his face screwing up again like when he'd rolled over. She let go of his hand to grab his shoulders and keep him facing her. "Sorry! Sorry. Should I stop talking? I can — I can do that. I just don't know how to help. You don't hear music yet, do you? Still the rain?" 

Duke was breathing heavily through his nose, his hand pawing weakly at the air until it found her forearm and clamped down tight, just for a moment before flopping back to the bed. She let go of his shoulders and took his hand again, feeling a sob trying to press itself up her throat. 

"I don't know what to do, Duke." 

Duke mumbled something she couldn't make out. She leaned in close, and he tried again. It sounded like "Hannah", or —

"Anna?" 

"Marcus," Duke said, his expression smoothing out again. "Anna Marcus." 

His hand went limp, his eyes distant. When she looked close she could see movement across them, faint shimmering circles, like ripples. 

His pupils looked like puddles in the rain. 

She grabbed her phone. "Anna Marcus," she said, the moment Nathan picked up. "Duke says Anna Marcus." 

" _Got it._ " She heard him share the information with someone else. " _Anna's got a sister, works with the first victim. Trouble must manifest differently for each of them._ " 

"Anna's rain," Jennifer said. "And her sister is music." 

She heard a crackle down the line, then Audrey answered, her voice low and urgent. 

" _Has he hurt himself yet?_ " 

Jennifer swallowed, looking down at Duke's still form in the bed. "No. He's just . . . lying here." 

" _Then we need to get to Danielle first. The ones hearing the music are actively suicidal. It . . . it might be a little while._ " 

Jennifer reached down and gave Duke's hand another squeeze. 

"It's alright. I've got him. Just — keep me updated?" 

" _We will. And Jennifer?_ " 

"Yeah?" 

" _Thank you. Duke's. . . . Well. He's Duke._ " 

"Yeah," Jennifer said again, hearing all the things that Audrey didn't seem to be able to say. That Duke was important. That she loved him. "I know." 

She hung up the phone and tucked it into her pocket, then slipped out of her shoes and climbed into the bed behind Duke. He didn't move as she wrapped her arm around him and pressed herself along his back, just let out a soft sigh. Jennifer closed her eyes and listened to him breathe. 

One of these days, maybe Audrey would actually tell him those things. Jennifer was pretty sure he needed to hear them.

* * *

Duke floated, suspended in an empty dark. The names and recriminations had faded in the face of the enormity of the darkness. One man, whatever his fate may be, was nothing compared to the ocean. It was fitting that his father had died there. Duke had always expected to as well. 

But not today. 

He wasn't sure exactly when things changed. He'd lost track of Jennifer after that last desperate grab for the surface, and without anything outside himself to measure it by, time had simply vanished. Disappeared under the waves without a ripple. Things lost in the ocean were rarely found again, unless they happened to wash ashore in a storm. 

A storm. 

The rain. 

It had faded into the loud roar of silence when he'd sunk back below the surface, but he could hear it again now, could pick out the individual drops among the static hiss of downpour. He could feel his fingers again, his arms and legs. The warm pressure of a body pressed against his. 

His knees hurt. 

His knees hurt a _lot_.

He must have shifted a little, made some noise, because the warmth at his back shifted and Jennifer spoke. "Duke?" 

His whole body was cramping up, protesting lying in one position for too long. He let out what he was pretty sure was a whimper as he tried to stretch his leg, and pins and needles shot through his feet. He rolled over carefully, shifting by degrees. Jennifer helped ease him onto his back and loomed over him, her eyes wide as she peered into his. 

"Are you back?" 

Duke made a humming noise that wasn't entirely a yes or no, and she frowned, mouth pursed into a little moue. He took a breath and tried again. 

"Can move," he said. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his voice scraped at his throat. "Kind of. Don't hate myself anymore." 

Jennifer smiled and dropped her head down onto his chest, her hair tickling his chin. "Oh thank god." She sat up again and smacked him in the sternum. "You scared the crap out of me!" 

The noise Duke made next was stuck somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. He _hurt_. All over. He'd been at sea in actual storms and not come out feeling this battered. 

Storms. The storm. He looked at the skylight and saw nothing but blue skies overhead. "It stopped raining." 

Jennifer let out a little squeal and glomped onto him again. "It never _was_ raining." 

"It was." Everything around Duke was bone dry — or at least as dry as anything got on the water. He frowned, reaching an unsteady hand to scrub at his face. "In my head, it was. I . . . sank." 

"It was a trouble." Jennifer climbed out of bed, elbows and knees knocking uncomfortably into his soft spaces, but Duke didn't complain. She darted out of the cabin and came back with a glass of water. Duke struggled upright and sat hunched on the end of the bed. "You actually got the easy version." 

Duke scoffed. Jennifer pressed the water into his hand. As dry as his mouth was, he couldn't quite bring himself to drink it yet. The water hadn't been kind to him today, even if it was just in his head. 

"Seriously." Jennifer sat down next to him and leaned into his shoulder. "The people who heard music tried to kill themselves." 

"And I just . . . lay down and waited to die." Duke took a tiny sip of the water and looked at his feet. "Where are my shoes?" 

"I took them off." Jennifer pointed to his shoes, lined up neatly by his dresser. "You're not allowed to die." 

Duke nodded. "I'll take that into consideration next time." 

"See that you do."

* * *

Jennifer watched as Duke drank his water, excruciatingly slowly. He moved like an old man, but she was too happy to see him _moving_ again to say anything about it. Judging by his expression every time he encountered a new cramp, he knew already, and absolutely hated it. 

"I'm serious," she said, trying not to bounce in place while she waited. "You're the only reason I'm even _here_ , Duke. If you die . . . I don't have anyone else." 

Duke looked over at her, his brow looking like it might permanently furrow. "That's ridiculous. People love you." 

"They like me well enough. I haven't been here long enough for anyone to love me." Jennifer shrugged. "And before I came here . . . well, you hear the same argument over and over in your head for six months and you kind of start to suck at maintaining friendships. I'm just — me. Alone in the world." 

"No." Duke set the glass aside — only half-drunk, Jennifer noticed, and she'd make him finish that eventually — and pulled her into a careful hug. "I know from alone. That's not what you are." 

She leaned into him, happy to let him hold her, after spending so much of her afternoon holding him. "I'm more alone than you are. You have Nathan and Audrey. Who were also _really_ worried about you. I should call them, tell them you're okay." 

"They know where we are?" Duke asked. Jennifer nodded against his chest. "Then they'll show up eventually." He rested his chin against her head. She loved how much larger he was than her, the way he could encompass her so easily. It made her feel contained. Safe. "You could have them too, you know." 

Not like he had them. She'd never seen a relationship like three of them had before. "I know," she said, rather than argue. "Maybe I will eventually. Or Dwight, maybe. Or Vince and Dave. . . ."

He chuckled. "No. Ew. They're like. Haven's creepy uncles." 

She pulled back and hit him in the chest again. "You're terrible." 

There was a flash of something over his face, like a lightning strike in a storm. She wondered if the trouble was still lingering, or if it had sunk its hooks into something that was already there, dragged it to the surface. She didn't think he'd tell her if it had. 

"Finish your water," she said instead. "And then let's get you out of this bed. You still owe me a date, after all." 

Duke let out a groan. She gave him her most wicked smile, which she suspected wasn't terribly wicked at all. 

"Not a date, then. Coffee. With benefits." 

"Yeah." He nodded, and gave her the most exhausted looking leer she'd ever seen. "That sounds like a plan."


End file.
